


Re:Stacks

by InkStainsOnMyHands



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Computer Viruses, Connor Has a Crush on Hank Again, Connor loves Hank so much, Fluff, Hospitalization, M/M, Memory Loss, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 17:48:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15954425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkStainsOnMyHands/pseuds/InkStainsOnMyHands
Summary: Hank held onto Connor’s limp hand with a trembling fist. This feeling, Hank wasn’t quite eloquent enough to quantity with words, but it was far too easy to recognize: a combination of white-hot rage, gut-wrenching anxiety, sharp guilt, and a cool numbness that blanketed over all of it.The monitors attached to Connor shrieked; the piercing cacophony jumpstarted Hank’s broken heart. The android’s body contorted, his back arching in an unnatural angle. Had Connor been human, it would have been diagnosed as a tonic seizure, and Hank hated how he owed that knowledge to an old medical drama Connor enjoyed.(Hank would give anything just to be at home, watching television, with Connor.)





	Re:Stacks

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by both C*ge's response to why the Tracis could remember each other and [this clip](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nldh0q9mRe0) from House M.D. 
> 
> I spent WEEKS, nay, MONTHS on this. I figured I was never going to be happy with the final result, so I might as well publish it anyway. 
> 
> Enjoy this angst - I cried writing it.

A powerful current of deja vu hit Hank with little mercy. 

 

Hank held onto Connor’s limp hand with a trembling fist. This feeling, Hank wasn’t quite eloquent enough to quantity with words, but it was far too easy to recognize: a combination of white-hot rage, gut-wrenching anxiety, sharp guilt, and a cool numbness that blanketed over all of it. 

 

The monitors attached to Connor shrieked; the piercing cacophony jumpstarted Hank’s broken heart. The android’s body contorted, his back arching in an unnatural angle. Had Connor been human, it would have been diagnosed as a tonic seizure, and Hank hated how he owed that knowledge to an old medical drama Connor enjoyed. 

 

(Hank would give anything just to be at home, watching television, with Connor.) 

 

After a small eternity, the ambulance finally stopped before CyberLife Memorial Hospital. 

* * *

Hank wasn’t an android, and this seemed to frustrate the personnel peppering him with questions as they wheeled Connor’s gurney through the emergency repair department. Each inquiry had more bark, more bite than the last. Hank was just as eager to relay the desired information as they were to receive it, but his mouth wouldn’t form the desired vocalizations, no matter his efforts. 

 

Hank, eventually explained, with stuttering, uneven breaths, that Connor had touched a suspect’s hand in an attempt to show empathy, diplomacy, and that  _ bitch _ opened a data channel that allowed a virus to infect his system in return - or so he assumed. Connor had made that assessment before the first seizure hit. 

 

A doctor - repair-person,  _ whatever _ \- in green scrubs stopped Hank before a pair of wide swinging doors. From the cursory glance he was able to glean, Connor’s medical team entered what appeared to be a strange amalgamation of a mechanic’s garage and surgical theater. A woman in nurse’s scrubs took him by the arm and nearly dragged him down a sterile, white-washed hall to an empty waiting room. Hank was only vaguely aware of her instruction for him to sit tight until the doctor came to receive him.  

 

“Is he going to be okay?” Hank asked; it was an echo of a long-forgotten question he had asked many years ago. 

 

The nurse, softly, explained, “He’s in bad shape, but we’ll do the best we can to fix him.” 

 

And, that was that. 

 

* * *

 

Hank would not cry, not yet. He had just enough dignity and polite sensibility to not unleash the flurry storming in his lungs, at least not while in public. For all he knew, there wasn’t a need to shed the tears hiding heavily behind his eyes. Androids weren’t fragile like humans were. They could fix him. 

 

They could fix him. 

 

After what felt like days, the doctor he had seen earlier stepped into the waiting room. Her visage was impassive, and that  _ irritated _ Hank. Couldn’t she at least give him the courtesy of preparing him for good or bad news with some sort of facial expression?  _ Goddamnit!  _

 

The doctor sat in the chair next to him, stiff and robotic, as if she had no idea how to be near a distressed human, though Hank couldn’t possibly blame her for that. Regardless, she made an attempt. Her words were soft, with a gentle touch of humanity and something akin to sympathy, but the calm cadence did little to soothe him. 

 

The dam broke; Hank sobbed into his awaiting palms. 

* * *

Dr. Johana did her best to explain the complexities of the aftermath left in the virus’ wake, but Hank had never been technologically inclined. From what little he understood, the virus corrupted Connor’s physical memory. The seizures were caused by his software trying to read-in faulty data from his drive, or something like that. Ultimately, it didn’t matter. 

 

Hank’s attention was focused on the solution. The only way to fix Connor was to replace the components of his memory and re-activate him, essentially rendering Connor in a default state. 

 

Deviancy, as a principle, was written into the central code of an android. So, to Hank’s relief, the possibility of summoning a ghost-from-revolutions past was non-existent. To his woe, however, Connor would not remember him. 

 

Connor wouldn’t remember their partnership, their love, their wedding, their plans for the future. 

 

Connor wouldn’t remember his co-workers, his friends, the family he had made for himself. 

 

Connor wouldn’t remember his enjoyment of coffee, simply for its warmth and smell. Connor wouldn’t remember that he hated Denton Carter, because he was a pompous jackass off the court. Connor wouldn’t remember that Sumo had arthritis and warming his joints soothed the poor creature. Connor wouldn’t remember his favorite television shows, music, or games. 

 

Everything that Connor was would simply cease to exist. It was a suspended kind of death. Crueler still, there could be no memorial to commemorate him. 

 

Hank made several phone calls; Connor deserved to be mourned for in some way. 

* * *

The first ones to arrive were Markus and North. Akin to deer entering a clearing, they tip-toed inside Connor’s tiny hospital room. Hank’s smile stood on a faulty foundation, but it was the only offering he had to assure them that their presence was not an intrusion.

 

For once, North did not sneer at Connor’s hand in Hank’s. Instead, she had the tact to simply ignore the affection as she leaned down to hug Connor’s still body, (as it had been shutdown to give him some peace from the seizing). 

 

After several minutes, North pulled away. Markus then placed a hand on Connor’s shoulder and thanked him for all his efforts in assisting with Android-Human relations. North frowned as more tears cascaded down the swell of her cheeks. 

 

Hank gave North a single nod, a silent plea to forgive Markus for his inability to form a proper farewell.  Grief had a tendency to strip a man of his sense. It must have been difficult for Markus to articulate exactly what Connor meant to him, and the only way to express his sorrow was to pull words from the most solid connection he had with him. As tragic as it was, Hank knew Markus would go home, see the piano in his living room, and weep for the time Connor serenaded everyone with a nonsense song. There, his mind would become wax poetic, churning with all the expressions he should have said while he still had the chance. 

 

Hank squeezed Connor’s hand, took a deep breath, and blinked back the wetness over his tired eyes. 

 

* * *

Josh and Simon offered to share their memories of Hank with Connor once he awoke, to at least give him a miniscule amount of context to what he was missing. Hank declined; he didn’t want Connor’s memories of their relationship to be artificial.

 

The Connor that would leave the hospital would not be the same one that entered it. If this new Connor was going to feel something for Hank, he wanted it to be real, organic. Hank planned to court him again, properly this time. 

 

(Realistically, the probability of rekindling their romance was slim to none. The optimal conditions no longer existed for it. But, Hank wasn’t going to tell the boys that. Such a heartache belonged to him alone.) 

 

“Besides,” Hank started with a small, broken chuckle; he threaded his fingers with Connor’s. “I can be charming when I want to be.” 

* * *

Everyone from the homicide department had come to give Hank their condolences and pay their respects to Connor. No one could stay long; their time had already been spread so thin already. The gesture was appreciated, all the same.

 

Miraculously, and much to Hank’s shock, Nines managed to drag Reed into the room for a few moments as well. At first, Hank assumed Reed’s tense posture, taping foot, and inability to look at Connor was due to an inordinate and insensitive amount of impatience over the entire situation. It wasn’t until Reed pawed at his eyes, complaining loudly over his lack of sleep, that Hank understood the reality. Reed, in his own way, grieved alongside his partner. 

 

Reed did owe Connor quite a lot. After all, Connor was the one to tutor Nines on all matters of humanity, including romance. Had it not been for Nines’ “older brother”, the two of them may have danced perpetually around each other for an eternity, breaking bones and parts along the way. 

 

Nines wiped his tear-stained face and nodded at Reed. “Okay, I’m ready,” he choked out shortly before striding out of the room. Reed followed tightly behind him. 

* * *

Before Hank was sent away from the room by Dr. Johana, he kissed Connor’s lifeless knuckles and collected his wedding ring. The burden of what that small circle of gold represented was for Hank to endure alone.

 

Alone, as he would be forever more. And - he breathed - that would be okay, because he was grateful for the time he had spent with his husband, however brief. If Connor had taught him one thing, it was to cherish what had once been rather than wallow in what wasn’t. 

* * *

Hank existed in a reality of suspended time. Hours passed, and yet his phone only counted a handful of minutes. With nothing but silence to accompany him, he stared at the television hanging against the blank wall; happy couples reconstructed their homes to better suit their needs.

 

Hank’s jealousy rested bitterly on his tongue. 

* * *

Hank’s feet turned to stone the moment a nurse offered to escort him into Connor’s room. After finding a shred of strength to stand, each labored step forward took every ounce of will he had left. His heart beat rapidly in its cage, seemingly begging to be released before it had a chance to be ripped out. How could he possibly face those beautiful brown eyes, ones that would no longer light in recognition for him? 

 

The two walked through automatic glass doors to find Connor sitting up on his assigned bed, appearing healthy, bright, and eager for  _ something _ . The expression upon his visage was so different than the one first given to Hank at Jimmy’s Bar, all those years ago. Rather than sharp lines and steel coolness, Connor’s smile was warm and welcoming. It was as if Connor was greeting him home from a long day at work. 

 

Everything within Hank ached. 

 

“I’ll give you two a moment,” the nurse whispered. “I’ll be back with discharge papers.” And then, with the hissing of Connor’s door, she was gone. 

 

Hank swallowed passed the thick air trickling into his lungs. 

 

Connor, on the other hand, unaffected by the tension filling the room, cocked his head and smirked. “Hank? You seem afraid of me.” 

 

A cool wave of relief washed over the lieutenant. The lead in his veins evaporated; his body felt as pliable as flesh again. “You know who I am?” 

 

“I scanned you on the way in,” Connor explained. 

 

_ Oh _ . “Oh.” 

 

“Although,” Connor continued with a soft smile. “As I’m processing further, I believe I may have made an incorrect assumption.” 

 

“What’d’ya mean?” Hank asked as he approached Connor’s bed. It made a small squeak of protest when he sat down beside the android. 

 

“I was told my partner was waiting for me. Seeing as I am designated as a detective for the DPD, I assumed the nurse meant ‘partner’ in a professional sense,” Connor explained. “I’m glad to find myself mistaken, unless they allow spouses to be partners at our precinct?” 

 

At what must have been Hank’s bemused expression, Connor giggled. The sound was utterly flirtatious! It was the kind of sound he made before - Hank shook his head. It was not the time! 

 

“As soon as I saw you, I just knew,” Connor nearly whispered. Intelligent, but bashful, eyes flitted to his fidgeting hands. His cheeks stained with an artificial red. “These feelings - It’s difficult to explain, but it was as if my... affection for you was written into my code. To be sure, a moment ago, I accessed our marriage license online to confirm.” 

 

Hank was gobsmacked, utterly and completely. Connor still loved him, somehow, despite not knowing who he was. Because,  _ God _ , because he changed the lines of his codes, the very fabric of his being, to perform the singular task of being in love with him.  _ Jesus _ , when had he deserved such an honor? 

 

“Disappointed, are you?” Hank joked, left with no other option than to express his conflicting feelings with self-deprecating humor. 

 

Connor’s visage twisted in abject horror. “No, of course not! I was so happy to -”

 

“Relax, kid,” Hank replied, interrupting the tirade with a grin. “You’ll get used to that soon enough.” 

 

Then, Hank pressed a quick kiss to Connor’s temple, more out of force of habit than anything else. Yet, the small, unthought gesture of affection caused Connor to gasp and stiffen. The poor thing was awestruck in the most adorable way, staring so openly at Hank. 

  
_ Oh _ , Hank was going to have so much fun with Connor’s newly revived crush. 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and Comments validate my existence. :3


End file.
